“Mia?” her father said, his eyes scanning the dismantled state of her bedroom, before meeting her scattered gaze. He frowned, the lines in his face retreating deeper.
“Dad, do you think you can pick me up a few boxes from the hardware store? I can’t really go out right now, and my suitcase is already full. Probably most of this stuff can be stored in the garage or, you know what, just donate all of it. I don’t care.”
“What the hell is going on? What happened?”
Mia threw her hands in frustration as if the answer was obvious. “I’m moving. I got into a program. The sooner you can get me those boxes, the better.” She retreated inside her closet and grabbed another handful of garments.
“What? Where?”
She let the bundle of clothes fall to the floor in a sloppy heap and slogged to her dresser, fetching her phone. Through a new curtain of waterworks and short, shallow breaths, she scrolled through the screen until she found the relevant email. With the message displayed, her cellphone was pressed into her father’s chest until he claimed it for himself. He held the device at arm’s length, his aging eyes squinting at it. “University of Houston?”
“That’s right. I’m moving to Texas,” she stated before breaking into tears again. “And it’s so far away.” The pitch of her voice took on a high whine at the end, but Mia no longer cared if she was acting like a cranky child. At the moment, she didn’t care about much of anything.
Her father gave her a puzzled look. “Why do you need to leave right at this moment? You have time. And why are you crying?”
“Because I need to figure out what my living situation is going to be and get settled in and learn my way around town. What if I get lost when I’m there or don’t know where the best laundromats are? I need to figure everything out. You don’t understand.”
Her father’s bushy gray eyebrows furrowed together. “Do you not want to go to Texas?”
“I don’t know,” Mia replied.
“Okay, well, you don’t have to rush into this.” He took a seat at the end of her bed. “My god, honey, you need to relax. You’re making me nervous. How about you wait until you hear back from other schools and then make a decision.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“What do you mean, it doesn’t matter? Of course, it matters. Can you please stop? Just stop. Come over here and tell me what’s going on.”
Mia carried her hunched, sobbing form to the bed, dropping onto the edge of the mattress beside him. Her father rubbed the area between her shoulder blades in slow, soothing motions, until she collapsed against him, becoming a sopping mess of tears.
“What’s wrong? Did something happen on your camping trip?”
“No, nothing.” It was doubtful tears made her answer convincing, but nothing had happened on the camping trip. Her statement was correct based on a technicality.
“Tell me what’s wrong,” her father tried again, his voice becoming gruff with impatience.
Mia took a deep, jagged breath before pushing ahead. “Ross asked me to move in with him.”
His body stiffened. “What?”
“Well, obviously, I’m not moving in with Ross, because I’m moving to Texas.”
“I don’t want you crying over anyone, and I especially don’t want you crying over him.”
She pulled away. “You can’t tell me who to cry over! I can cry over Ross if I want to.”
“That kid is not worth your tears—”
“Stop calling him a kid. And you think you know him, but you don’t know him at all.” Her cheeks flushed hot while she pushed her hair behind her ears and slid a hand across her nose.
“I know he’s not worth all this. You can, and will, do so much better than him.”
“I don’t think I’ll ever run into someone like Ross. He’s special,” she said.
“Mia, you are going to go far and meet lots of people who will be worth your attention and love. He is still going to be here. You will do better, and I’m not just saying this because you’re my daughter and I love you, even though both these things are true.”
Her father was doing his best at providing the comfort he thought she needed, but it had the opposite effect. The spark inside her was given a healthy dose of oxygen as if someone opened a window, and it flared into full-blown defensiveness. She shot up, returning to her task at emptying the closet. “I already told you I was leaving. I’m doing exactly what you want. Why can’t you just be happy and leave it alone?” she replied, not hiding the anger in her voice. Her shoulders slumped again as she leaned against the closet door frame. “I have to burst that lovely bubble, and I can’t love him, but at least the judge gets what he wants.”
“What do you mean whatIwant? Isn’t this whatyouwant?”
